


Cold-blooded Creatures

by Badwxlf



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Heirs Of Despair
Genre: Demons, Dreamscapes, Dubcon Kissing, F/M, Power Imbalance, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24691756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Badwxlf/pseuds/Badwxlf
Summary: He watched her with that same annoying leer, that same victorious air, and never before had it stung as profoundly as it did then.For a moment, for just a moment… She wanted him to have her.
Relationships: D | Dahlia (Heirs of Despair)/Zulabar (Heirs of Despair), Original D&D Character(s)/Original D&D Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Cold-blooded Creatures

**Author's Note:**

> Named after [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J1oRp_fNOwY) song, because it's what I was listening to while writing this in a haze of pestilence and disease (I was sick lol)

“Never,” D sneered, making no effort whatsoever to withhold her disdain. The expression contorted her otherwise impassive face, a sight which only drove Zulabar into grinning even wider. “In your dreams, shit-for-brains,” she spat.

“On the contrary. Don’t you mean in _yours?”_ he purred in response. Drifting closer, he tapped her forehead with a playful flick of one of his long, clawed fingers. “This is your dream, after all. Even if only in name.” 

A mischievous gleam shone in his eyes. He was the perfect image of a trickster god, a sadist before his subject. She never got any privacy, any peace, with him around. D felt like sucker punching him right in that smug mouth of his. 

Goddess, what a _jackass_. What a massive motherfucking ugly-ass pissbaby. Little baby bitch. Little fuckin’ baby _bitch_. Nasty goo-goo-ga-ga lookin’ cock-munching bastar—

“I can hear all that, you know.”

“Good,” she smirked. “‘Cause I meant it.”

Zulabar rolled his eyes before vanishing in a wisp of vaguely red-tinted smoke. D was forced to cough it out once it entered her lungs, recovering only to find him rematerializing just over her shoulder. 

His breath ghosted over the shell of her ear. Goosebumps pricked the flesh of her neck, and she suppressed the shiver that dared to run down her spine. His presence was a weight bearing down upon her consciousness, heavy and cumbrous, and it made her wince.

“Get away from me,” she muttered. Her fist tightened by her side, primed for swinging.

He ignored her, placing a large hand on her other shoulder. “C’mon, pumpkin,” he whispered. “Dance for me.”

“Like I said: _never_. I’d. Rather. Die.”

Her eyes were shut tight, frustration taught in the stiff clench of her jaw, but she could still see him pout. “Why not? Let loose! Live a little!”

“No. Eat shit.”

“Feisty,” Zulabar laughed. Then he pulled away. The relief that overtook her was instant, and she relaxed a fraction, freed from his touch. Upon opening her eyes once more, however, her relief was short-lived. He floated before her, close enough for him to overcome her once more.

“Alright, how about a kiss instead?” he asked. Then, tapping his cheek, an ugly smile stretched across his face. “A cute little smooch right here, eh? How about it?”

D gagged. _“No.”_

“C’mon,” he pushed forward, “gimme a little sugar—“

His arms began to wrap around her, and… Maybe it was the crappy day she just had clouding her better judgement, maybe she was feeling braver, feeling more like the fire she learned to burn beneath her palms, but… She snapped. Despite her better judgement, despite how he’s toyed with her so many times before, she resisted anyway, pushing the infuriating demon away from her with a violent shove.

“I SAID _NO!_ CAN’T YOU JUST LEAVE ME THE FUCK _ALONE?”_ she screamed.

Zulabar stiffened. His eyes narrowed. Her furious shove did precious little to actually widen the distance between them, but it did shake his disgusting embrace off of her.

It was in the few oppressive seconds of silence that followed that D realized her mistake. Her breath came in hard pants and her arms shook with anger, but soon that fury gave way to a much less courageous emotion. She no longer shook but trembled, dread rising to form a lump in her throat. Her heart refused to surrender, and she strove to keep her bold expression plastered on her face, but she knew he knew the truth.

His almost carefree playfulness vanished in an instant; the cheshire grin he sported no longer proved mischievous, but cruel. He laughed, a mere chuckle at first, before devolving into massive guffaws, callous and cutting.

She should have just humored him. It would have been smarter. It would have been quicker.

It would have crushed her.

“You think you have a _choice?”_ Zulabar wheezed. “You _still_ think you have a choice?”

His arms shot back into motion, roughly enfolding her against him. D’s hands landed on his chest, her arms caught between them both, and he cupped her chin, heartlessly forcing her to meet his eyes, to witness the derision that dwelled within them.

She had barely a second to simmer beneath his gaze before he mashed his lips against hers in a ruthless caricature of a kiss. 

Zulabar kissed like the demon he was. Heedless of her satisfaction, he captured and devoured her hatred, biting her lip, forcing his tongue into her mouth, taunting her into reigniting her fury under one premise alone: her anger meant nothing. She could push and pull all her heart desired, but her efforts would only prove fruitless in the end. 

Nothing she does will ever matter. Nothing she does will ever matter. 

The thought lingered in the back of her mind like a mantra, a chant spoken to life by every voice she had ever known. It was true. She knew it was. But… Fuck. Arghhh… _Fuck it._

She’ll go down swinging.

_Limp-dicked little bitch._

D tightened her grip, bunching up the fabric of the suit vest he wore and pulling until it must have been painful. She gave as good as she got, the heat of their collision burning hot in a hell of their own creation. 

No doubt sensing her reciprocation, he chuckled. The muted sound traveled from his mouth to hers, his mirth a newfound taste upon her tongue.

And just like that, everything shifted. 

He loosened his grip on her, threading his fingers into her hair, cradling her against him almost tenderly. His lips pressed against hers, now soft, coaxing. It made D’s head swim, her chest ache. She squirmed against him, anchored only, it felt, by his solid form. 

Almost as if on their own accord, her arms wrapped themselves around his neck, her hands having abandoned their vice-like grip upon his vest. All of her senses seemed to exist only for him, the heady sensation of their connection robbing her thoughts of precious clarity. His warmth bled into her, pooling low in her churning gut, sensual, seductive… 

Revolting.

Desire sparked amidst a haze of loathing, and however weakly it may have shone, the shame that followed made her blood run cold.

She broke the kiss, stumbling away from him; eyes wide, skin flushed, lips plump. Zulabar stood before her, just as freshly-ravished, arms open before him, a remnant of D’s place within them.

“Aw,” he began, voice husky, “it was just getting good.”

“Holy shit,” D whispered. “Holy shit…”

He watched her with that same annoying leer, that same victorious air, and never before had it stung as profoundly as it did then. 

For a moment, for just a moment… She wanted him to have her.

His touch, as suddenly as it came, ignited something within her. A taste of something new, a greater distraction, intoxicating amidst the agony that plagued her pitiful life. The kiss bit, bled, and soothed. It beckoned, and she almost listened.

D’s knees gave out, and she found herself sat gracelessly upon the ground. It hit her how deeply his claim lay branded upon her, the extent to which his power over her suffused itself throughout her body. 

She looked up. He towered over her, the sole solid amidst a shifting dreamscape. Her mind itself was not her own.

Zulabar crouched before her.

“Now you get it,” he smiled.

He took her hand in his before lifting it up to his lips. Upon it, he lay a gentle kiss, the most courteous he had yet to offer her. It was a polite gesture, a type of intimacy reserved for souls purer than theirs. If D chose to believe it, it might have seemed kind.

Her heart ached, for she knew better.

It was not kindness, but mockery.


End file.
